Finally
by Xx.WildatHeart.xX
Summary: She loved him, she always had. But she was so confused. He said he loved her, so why on Earth was he leaving? - My take on Friday the 3rd's episode. Reviews appreciated. ;) *Lauren B. & Peter B.*


**First ever Eastenders' fanfic; it's a little astray from my usual preference, but I've really enjoyed it lately, and I suddenly found myself stringing together this short one-shot after last night's episode. Which was Friday, by the way. ;) So, yeah, this is my own interpretation of the scene between Lauren and Peter - my current favourite couple. (**_Random side note:_ I'm fed up of spell check telling me there's no 'u' in just about every single word I write. I am English, thank you very much, I will stick a 'u' wherever I please.**)**

**Anyway, as with every story I post:**

**ENJOY!**

**;)**

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><p><strong>FINALLY<strong>

**-:-**

"You know," his lips lifted faintly, "I've spent my entire life either loving you, or," his eyes flitted to meet hers, searching as if he was discovering her soul, "pretending I'm not."

Her throat constricted tightly as she swallowed, blinking quickly, her eyes darting everywhere, but him as she struggled to pull her dry lips into a smile.

He looked away, leaning back on his hands as he gnawed slightly on his cheek. He smiled almost humorlessly, tilting his head to hold her eyes again. "But that's okay," he said quietly, trying to hold back all his pain and all his love, and instead simply ensure he reassures her, "because I can do that." His head shook little, his eyes falling from hers.

When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with a raw determination as he spoke. "I can do that as long as you let me."

Her hand pressed painfully into the harsh concrete of the pavement as her brow furrowed together, her eyes shuttering. She didn't understand him. If he loved her then why was he leaving?

A warmth fell upon her skin as he slipped his fingers through hers, lifting her hand from the pavement. "I'll be here," he squeezed her hand with conviction, "even if I'm not there."

She frowned, breathing painfully, but he just smiled, feeling a sharp pain rip through his chest as he looked away. His smile was forced, and stiff, but, he kept telling himself, _this_, all of _this_, was for her. "We've never had a song," he said suddenly, his eyebrow raised and his features carefully arranged so as not to express the pain pushing down on his heart. "After all this time," his throat tightened at the words, "we've never had one."

She laughed as he tugged her gently to her feet, clasping her other hand in his own. "What ever he plays next," he whispered softly. "Whatever he plays, that'll be our song."

Her smile was bright as she giggled, "This could go terribly wrong."

He shrugged, pulling her tighter against him, wounding his arms protectively around her waist. Something shook inside of her as an overwhelming feeling of home washed over her. "I've got you, haven't I?" he almost smirked, his eyes teasing. Something was stirring inside of her, building momentum as it powered through her veins; that alien feeling that right there, right then in his arms, was _right_.

Her head fell upon his shoulder as she smiled at his familiar scent. "Okay."

A bunch of girls rushed out of the station, their squeals high pitched and grating on their ears. The busker stood expectantly, his fingers hovering over the worn strings, and suddenly, the vague sound of Happy Birthday elicited from the old guitar. They both collapsed against each other as laughter overcame them.

"No!" she cried, shaking her head as she tried desperately not to laugh. He threw his head back, a gorgeous warm chuckle tumbling from his lips. They pressed together in an effort to quell his laughter, his eyes shining brightly as his head fitted perfectly into the nook of her shoulder. "Now," his breath tickled her skin, "whenever someone sings happy birthday, you can think of me." He drew his head back, catching her eyes, his face serious, "And this song's weirdly popular."

She smiled amusedly, cupping the back of his neck in her hands. "I love you," she blurted, smiling happily as his eyes widened, a smile tugging at his lips. "I love you, Peter. I do." She laughed faintly, throwing her eyes to the sky. "Who am I kidding? I always have."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching again. And then, he leaned forward and filled her with a warmth she'd missed for so long, writing secrets on her skin with his fingertips.

After a long moment she drew back, her eyes glistening, "Please don't leave," she pleaded. "I love you," she repeated, "and I need you. You have no idea how much."

He looked away, his eyes falling on the ticket turnstiles, before he squeezed her gently, resting his forehead against hers. "Don't worry," he reached into his pocket and crumpled the letter. "I'm not going anywhere."

She was elated, yes, but still, she frowned, "But what about New Zealand?"

He rolled his eyes fondly, "I've been waiting my entire life for this moment and you think I'm still planning to leave you."

She bit her lip slightly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "No..." she admitted abashedly. "I just-..."

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her heart exploded with happiness, a smile instantly curling at her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled cheekily, "Really? What made you change your mind?"

He rolled his eyes, holding her tight to his chest, tucking her head under his chin. "Very funny," a smile danced on his lips as he rubbed his thumb gently against her cheeks.

"Hmm," she hummed, agreeing. "I should have been a comedian."

His body shook as he laughed, drawing her head up to kiss her. His eyes glinted teasingly as his lips hovered an inch from hers. "In your dreams."

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><p><strong>Reviews are, of course, very much appreciated. ;)<strong>

~**Wildatheart**~


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